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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031232">The Second Doctor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilisten/pseuds/nihilisten'>nihilisten</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Homage, Poetry, Regeneration (Doctor Who)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:36:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilisten/pseuds/nihilisten</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In memory of Patrick Troughton, born 100 years ago today.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Second Doctor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>coming <em>round</em>;</p><p>no longer himself—</p><p>stranger in the mirror and buzzing in his brain</p><p> </p><p>change;</p><p>coat now oversized scattered on the floor</p><p>itching under his skin, he can’t sit still</p><p> </p><p>awe;</p><p>seeing the world through new eyes</p><p>is like tasting the air for the very first time</p><p> </p><p>inhale</p><p>and so <em>he</em> rises;</p><p>someone else but still the same—</p><p>tramp, space hobo, vagabond of knowledge,</p><p>renegade, outlaw… wanderlust unquenched</p><p>eyes made of stardust and hearts like fire.</p><p> </p><p>he says,</p><p>“don’t fear silence,</p><p>we’re never forgotten, never alone.”</p><p> </p><p>unknown,</p><p>in the centre of the universe he stands.</p><p>the Doctor</p><p>Lord of Time fugitive</p><p>born to the stars, born to exile</p><p>with no place to call home yet everywhere to belong;</p><p>walking in eternity one step at a time</p><p>to a childish melody he fondly crafts—</p><p> </p><p><em>smile</em>; always on the run, always on his way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dear Patrick,</p><p>Though no words could ever honour you enough, I'm writing on this day in hopes that this humble poem reaches you somehow.</p><p>As of today, it's been a century since your birth, and over three decades since you were taken from us. Such a long time, yet people keep remembering you. They still think of you with fondness, still cherish what you gave to the world—your talent, kindness and the beauty of your soul.</p><p>There never was and never will be one like you. I, along with many others, mourn the fact that so much of your work is lost, impossible to be seen and properly appreciated anymore. But we never stop hoping and never forget; even though you're gone, we remember.</p><p>Thank you for gracing this world, for making it a brighter place. Thank you for all the smiles and frowns and lines that you spoke with such passion. Thank you for being my Doctor—this adorable little cosmic hobo who never fails to make me smile, cry of joy like I'm five years old again.</p><p>Rest in peace, Pat. We miss you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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